


The Addict

by Desi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frottage, M/M, Past Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desi/pseuds/Desi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After almost overdosing on heroin, Mycroft enters Sherlock in a 30 day rehabilitation center in the countryside. Sherlock complies, with the intention of faking his way through everything. Enter Dr. John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Addict

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this fantastic graphic: http://justanotherheartafraidt0break.tumblr.com/post/73367015337/au-after-suffering-from-an-overdose-mycroft-cuts

“For the last time Mycroft, I am not an addict. I was just solving a problem,” Sherlock spat out. From the front seat, Mycroft gave out a snort. He was probably rolling his eyes too. Bastard.

“It must have been a bad problem for the brilliant Sherlock Holmes to ingest- how much was it, dear brother?” Sherlock shrugged. “I can’t hear you, little brother.”

“I don’t know!” Sherlock snapped.

“Tsk tsk, your brain is getting soft. How disappointing.” Sherlock slumped back in his seat and tried to lift his arm as much as the handcuff would let him.

“Why the hell am I handcuffed anyways?”

“Knowing you, you’ll probably fake a seizure or something and make an escape, and we certainly can’t let that happen now can we? Mummy and Dad wouldn’t like that.” Sherlock huffed and smirked.

“Ah, it was their idea wasn’t it? I knew you were being too nice.”

“Oh shut up, we’ve arrived.” The car screeched to a halt and Sherlock turned to look at the window.

He knew they were outside of London, he’d figured that out the minute the buildings gave way to green pastures. The building looked like a cottage, painted red with a tiled roof, flower gardens spotting the front, and a lush green pasture out back. Sherlock checked the clock at the front of the car: 3:50 pm. So an hour and a half outside of London, with no congestion. Not bad, he could hitchhike his way back from some farmer or a gullible country boy who’d never heard of him. Maybe he’d even run into one of his many MP friends as they made their way back for the fall session of Parliament. Maybe Irene, she fancied him judging by the way she flushed every time they ran into each other 

“I’ve already contacted MP Adler, and she knows to drive you back here, should you try to escape.” Sherlock looked up to see Mycroft had opened the door and was holding out a key. Sherlock snatched it from him, and unlocked the handcuff from his arm. He got out of the car and stretched, then looked around.

“Where on earth are we?”

“You don’t need to know, brother dear. It’s a discreet facility, so none of your photographer fans will know about it. Now, let’s go.”

~*~

The inside of the facility was less facility and more summer country getaway. There was a foyer with a coat hanger near the door, a shoes cabinet, and a carpet leading down a well-lit hall. It also appeared to be empty, until a man walked down the stairs and towards them.

Mid thirties, short build, ramrod posture, blond hair, slight limp, tan on his hands and face but there was a strip of pale skin under his knit sweater.

“Where did you serve?” The man paused and stared at Sherlock.

“I’m sorry, what?” Mycroft huffed.

“Ignore him, Dr. Watson. Sherlock this is Dr. John Watson, he’s the head of this facility and from this moment on, he will be in charge of you. Dr. Watson, this is my idiot brother Sherlock.” Mycroft turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock, this is when you say hello to people.”

“He didn’t answer my question.”

“For God’s sake, Sherlock just give it-“

“Afghanistan,” Dr. Watson replied. “I served in Afghanistan, I was head of the medical team there. How on Earth did you know? Did you look me up or something?” He looked amused, maybe even excited. Of course he would, anyone would get excited if they’d been looked up. 

Sherlock gave out sharp laugh.

“Your tan and limp. Your tan only comes up to your wrists, therefore you haven’t been in the Maldives sunbathing, also you have a limp that seems to go away when you stand. You probably saw something traumatic or experienced something traumatic. Most prominent trauma would be war. We haven’t invaded Syria yet and we didn’t invade Libya, so that only leaves Iraq or Afghanistan. Thus, where did you serve?” Dr. Watson stared at him, mouth agape. “Please close your mouth, Doctor, it makes you look like a fish and I don’t want a fish looking after my addiction.” Mycroft sighed.

“And this is my cue to go. Sherlock, try not to insult the doctor? There’s only so much we can pay him to deal with you. Dr. Watson, you have my private number so do let me know if Sherlock tries to escape?” Dr. Watson smiled and nodded, and Mycroft turned to leave. Once the door was shut, Sherlock turned to Dr. Watson, who was staring at him with a… smile on his face?

“What?” Dr. Watson shook his head.

“Just… that was extraordinary.” Sherlock shrugged. He knew that. 

“Now, I’m going to show you to your room and you can leave your things there, then wash up because it’ll be group session time and I want you to meet the other patients.” Sherlock groaned inside, picked up his duffle bag, and moved to follow Dr. Watson down the hallway.

This was going to be a nightmare. 

~*~ 

“Group Therapy” aka “A Waste of Sherlock’s Time” was in a small room, pale beige color, with five chairs arranged in a circle, three of them already filled. Elderly lady, empty chair, man with greying hair, mousy girl with brown hair, and empty chair. Mousy girl was nervous, constantly playing with her hair, and was worrying her thin lips. Probably had boy troubles, how boring. Grey haired man looked enthusiastic, a little dumb, reminded him of some of the old chums from Scotland Yard. Maybe he was one of them. Elderly lady was the most interesting, she was a little spacy looking but she wouldn’t be in rehab if there weren’t something interesting about her. 

He chose to sit between old lady and grey haired man. Dr. Watson sat in the other empty chair. 

“Ok, let’s get started! We have a new member today with us, so let’s start by introducing ourselves and talking a little bit about why we’re here. Mr. Holmes why don’t you start and we’ll go around?” Dr. Watson said, clapping his hands. Sherlock sighed.

“Sherlock Holmes, mathematics professor at University College in London and professional problem solver, and I’m here because my brother decided that I have a drug problem.” Dr. Watson smiled tightly and pointed to the elderly woman next to Sherlock.

“I’m Mrs. Hudson, and I’m retired at Baker Street. I’ve been here for two weeks now as my sentence for driving under the influence of marijuana, possession, and intent to sell. “

“I’m Greg Lestrade. I’m a former Inspector for Scotland Yard, and I was sent here for a drinking problem.”

“Were you drinking because you’re terrible at your job?” Sherlock interjected. The entire room fell silent and turned to look at him. “It’s not an insult, it’s just Scotland Yard is full of simpletons so I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up having a drinking problem.” Greg stared at Sherlock, shocked. 

“Ahem, let’s move on. Molly?” Dr. Watson interjected. The mousy haired girl looked at Sherlock nervously before responding.

“Um my name is Molly Hooper and I’m here because of an addiction to Vicodin and I tried to overdose…”

“After your boyfriend left you, I assume?” 

“Mr. Holmes! Outside, now!” Sherlock turned to see Dr. Watson staring at him angrily, standing up. He stood up and made his way to the door, the doctor behind him. He heard the door close and turned around to see Dr. Watson staring at him, arms crossed. Ah, he was going to get a lecture. Maybe he would even be kicked out, that would be nice. 

“Dr. Watson, if you’re going to kick me out, let me know now so I can call and get a ride back to London.” Dr. Watson shook his head, smiling. Silent.

“I looked you up after your brother called me. Found your website. Bloody brilliant-” He held his hand up as Sherlock was about to speak. “However, in this house, you don’t get to show off to everyone how brilliant you are, especially if you’re trying to worm your way out of this. There are rules. You are not the brilliant mathematician and toast of London’s elite. You are my patient, and therefore you will listen to me, you will follow my regiment, and you will be civil to your co-patients. Do you understand me?” Sherlock frowned and Dr. Watson smiled. “It doesn’t matter if you agree, you just will. Now, Let’s go back inside and continue civilly.” He opened the door and Sherlock followed him inside. 

Follow the regiment? What a waste.

~*~

Sherlock could hear Lestrade snoring in the other room as he stared at the clock. Dr. Watson had made the final rounds and was probably tucked in for the night. The windows were sealed, the backdoor had a padlock, which only left the door. The door would be locked, but Sherlock was rather light-footed and he really didn’t need his stuff as much as he needed to leave. He sat up in his bed and slid on his shoes, already fully dressed under his bathrobe. Under the comforters, he placed his duffel bag. He slowly crept his way out of the room, checking both sides…

“Going somewhere, Mr. Holmes?” Dr. Watson’s voice said. Sherlock jumped to see him leaning against the staircase, arms crossed and looking at him with raised eyebrows. Sherlock straightened up.

“No, just… thirsty! Yes, I’m thirsty. Absolutely parched.” He prayed that his voice didn’t give away any panic, oh that would be embarrassing. Dr. Watson smiled.

“Come with me. 

They entered the kitchen and sat at the small table near the back window. There was a pot of tea already made and a cup. Sherlock sat down as Dr. Watson went to the cupboard to get another cup. He sat down and poured out a cup, then slid it across the table. Sherlock cupped his hands around it and stared down refusing to make eye contact.

“You were trying to escape.” It wasn’t a question. Sherlock continued to stare at the cup. Dr. Watson ducked his head down. “You were trying to escape weren’t you?”

“I don’t need to be here.”

“Really?” replied Dr. Watson, “Because I saw your file and I don’t think being found half dead in a back alley with used needles scattered around your body screams ‘Healthy and sound of mind’. You need to be here and you need to let me help you.”

“Why are you awake at this late hour, doctor?” Sherlock said, looking up. Dr. Watson tilted his head and looked at him.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Come now, Dr. Watson there must be a reason why you are awake at this hour. Bad dreams? Dreams of war? That must be the case, you’re probably reminiscing about the glory days and it got too much-“

“Do you always do that?” Sherlock stared back, startled.

“I suppose so, yes.

“And I suppose people find it annoying?”

“Usually.” Dr. Watson smiled and sat back in his chair.

“It’s fascinating. Rather cute, in all honesty. It’s like you don’t know what to say, so you get all wound up in yourself.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Cute? He was about to speak, when John continued, “You’re wrong by the way, it’s too quiet and therefore I get jumpy and can’t sleep.” Sherlock leaned forward.

“Dr. Watson, if it’s too quiet then why do you run a rehabilitation clinic in the country side? I would think you’re trying to be normal, but normal indicates a job at the NHS and this clearly isn’t a big hospital.” Dr. Watson smiled.

“I’ve tried working there actually, and it was worse. I kept having flashbacks to war. I got antsy and bored. Almost did a you, with the drugs just to brighten up my day, And one day…” he takes a deep breath “My old commanding officer was found dead in an alley. Cocaine overdose. I think he’d been depressed for a while, but I never knew that he was abusing drugs. And that made me think a little-“

“And so you decided to open this clinic.” Sherlock finished. “That’s…”

“Stupidly idealistic?”

“Rather noble.” Dr. Watson stared at Sherlock for a minute, and then a bright smile grew.

“I do think that that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard you say, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock took a deep breath.

“You can call me Sherlock.”

“Ok then, Sherlock. You can call me John. As long as you promise not to run away again.”

For the first time since he’d been dropped off, Sherlock genuinely smiled.

“I promise. I do have a question though.”

“Fire away, Sherlock.”

“Why are you drinking tea? Wouldn’t that make your insomnia worse?” John laughed and winked at Sherlock. 

“It’s decaffeinated.”

~*~

As Sherlock began to settle into his time at the clinic, he started noticing things he hadn’t before.

Mrs. Hudson had a tendency of referring to herself as Hudders whenever she talked about her past in Florida as a stripper, and after a while he began calling her that too. She was also quite a darling, but had a tendency of winking whenever he and John were speaking to each other. 

Molly was, beyond her endless moaning about her last boyfriend Jim, actually smart for someone who worked at the morgue. The two of them spent hours talking about various dead bodies and the anomalies she’d encountered. 

Graham or George or whatever his name was… he was loyal. He talked fondly about his team and how bad he felt about letting them down with his alcoholism. After a while, Sherlock grew to be less irritated with Lestrade and a little more admiring of him.

Then there was John. They continued to have late night chats over untouched cups of tea, John from his restless insomnia, and Sherlock… well, Sherlock wasn’t quite sure why. He would tell John his brain was keeping him up with another math problem, but in reality nothing beyond a simple desire to talk to John seemed to be the reason. 

By week two of his stay, his stomach would churn uncomfortably every time John smiled or laughed. The churning would intensify every time said actions were directed towards Sherlock., especially in public when it would be accompanied by a wink from Hudders.

The first half of week three introduced a constant pull to stare at John, whether it was over their late night conversations, at one on one therapy, at dinner, in group therapy, at the random urine tests… Sherlock stared. 

One night, he stayed in his bed that night, feigning sickness. He listed through the symptoms: churning, bubbling happiness, joy whenever John told him something positive.

Love.

~*~ 

“Look who decided to come back!” John exclaimed as Sherlock entered the kitchen. Sherlock shrugged. Stay nonchalant. Stay distant. John is your doctor. 

“I had a better time sleeping, but my insomnia returned.” John smiled.

“Well I’m certainly happy to see you.” He paused and looked serious. “Sherlock, will you come with me to my room? I need to speak with you.” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, but he nodded and followed John up to his bedroom. When they entered the bedroom, John stood by the foot of his bed.

“Sherlock, could you close the door.” Sherlock did so and turned back toward John. John took a deep breathe.

“What is it?” Sherlock could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, almost as bad as when he was approaching death that night, his heart about to burst out of his chest. 

“Sherlock, in a few days, you’re going to be leaving. You’ve made incredible progress, and I hope that you continue to do well and not slip into your habit whenever you feel … inadequate.

You are one of the smartest men I’ve ever met in my life. You’re infuriating at times, very self-centered.

I also think I love you.”

~*~

In later years, Sherlock would tell guests that he told John that he was, unequivocally, the only person he was able to fall in love with. That he was, without doubt, the most courageous, kindest, most honorable man he had ever had the fortune of knowing. That John Watson-MD and veteran of Afghanistan-had saved his life. John would interrupt by saying that Sherlock had not, in fact, said any of this, but had stared at him with his mouth open and then lunged forward to kiss him. And Sherlock would shrug and say. “Well I was certainly thinking it.”

But at this particular moment in time, what was said and unsaid was left at the wayside. At this moment, Sherlock was holding tightly onto John Watson, both shirtless, kissing him as though John would disappear into the arms of someone else, and trying to get out of his pants. 

John broke out of the kiss to look at Sherlock.

“You are terrible at multitasking, you know that? And you claim to be some sort of genius?” Sherlock pouted and lift his head up to continue kissing John, but his head was out of reach. “Undo your pants, Sherlock.”

“Bossy man,” Sherlock grumbled, but stood up. His fingers were shaking, but soon his pants were off, then boxers. He turned around to see John still with his pants. “You have to be naked too.”

“You are so demanding.” But John stood up and stripped himself out of his pants. They both stared at each other, silent, in awe. Finally, John coughed and blushed.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been naked with another man.”

“This is the first time I’ve been naked with anyone.” John looked at Sherlock, shocked.

“You’re a virgin?? The great Sherlock Holmes is a virgin?” 

“Hush are you trying to tell the entire house? I’ve had neither time nor interest.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John’s widening smile. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” John chucked and shook his head. “Just… wow. I am about to take the virginity of the great Sherlock Holmes, mathematics extraordinaire.” 

‘Well you’re a virgin too in this sense, so you really shouldn’t be crowing.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

“With pleasure,” and with that, they rushed back into each other’s arms, kissing feverishly. John clung to Sherlock’s curls tightly and Sherlock cradling John’s face with a reverence he had never bestowed upon anyone. They both gasped when their cocks slid against each other.

“Oh my god.” Sherlock managed to whisper. John just nodded, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. They rubbed against each other again and gasped louder. 

Dear god, this was better than any high.

John pulled away.

“Lie down now.” Sherlock fell back against the bed, scooting up. John climbed up the bed and settled himself on Sherlock, fingers tangling in Sherlock’s hair and reaching to kiss him again. They began to grind against each other faster and faster, gasping against each other’s mouths. They grabbed at the other’s hair, arms, chest, back, ass, anything so long as they could still hold each other and not separate. 

For the first time in his life, Sherlock was in a daze. His brain was clouded by the sweat of his and John’s body, the heat emanating from John, and the sensation of their cocks rubbing together. He could feel his balls tighten up.

“John, I-I think I’m going to-“ Sherlock gasped out.

“Oh Sher-“ John managed to say before they began to climax. They clung to each other, nails burying into skin, teeth clashing against each other, gasps and moans entering the other’s mouth.

They lay like that for a while, Sherlock on his back with his legs haphazardly flung around John, John on top of Sherlock with his legs on either side, both panting. Finally John lifted himself up to look at Sherlock, a small smile on his face.

“So, can I say it again?” Sherlock smiled lazily.

“Say what?”

“I love you.” Sherlock sighed and his smile grew wider.

“I love you too, John.”


End file.
